Colours
by olehistorian
Summary: This is a short series of drabbles (not over 500 words each) based around color and what those colors mean to Charles and Elsie. Some people see in color, meaning that certain words have colors associated with them; for many of us colors are associated with feelings or even people. This brief series will take on five or six colors. Some angst, fluff, romance, and M.
1. Black

This is a short series of drabbles (not over 500 words each) based around colour and what those colours mean to Charles and Elsie. Some people see in colour, meaning that certain words have colours associated with them; for many of us colours are associated with feelings or even people. This brief series will take on five or six colours. Note: The first in the series is "Black" and there are references to Series 4 and Anna's situation. There are no descriptions of said incident, but concentrates more on how Elsie is affected. Not all drabbles will be angsty, but there will be a combination of fluff, angst, and romance.

* * *

 **Black**

She always heard anger described as white hot. Thought of it as a burning flame of blue-white heat licking up around one's consciousness until you're enraged, seething, and acting in retribution. Yet Elsie Hughes feels nothing of that full white hotness, because if she did that would mean some kind of light was present and at the thought of him she feels nothing but blackness.

And it frightens her.

The darkness she feels inside frightens her to her core but no matter how much she tries she cannot vanquish it; she cannot banish the feelings of vengeance.

She feels powerless and where happiness and contentment once filled her, she's now filled with malice and the need for justice.

She's long been away from Argyll, but there's enough of the Highlands, enough of the Highlands inherent sense of retribution that still beats in her breast, to demand payment for this wrong.

Evil only preys on the innocent; tries to take their light and snuff it out. Mr. Green is an evil man, preying on innocent women like Anna. Anna, who is kind and friendly and who's only extended him, as she has everyone who's darkened Downton's doors, courtesy and a welcoming smile. But now that Elsie thinks on it, that vile man marked Anna out from the beginning. From the moment Mr. Gillingham's valet saw her, he marked her out; the most innocent among them; the one who tries to see a flicker of good in everyone. The one who couldn't afford to tell a soul - except she told one soul; the one she trusts with this horrible secret.

And now as she sits in the very room where she found Anna, the housemaid she's allowed to become too close, the one who owns a corner of her heart despite how unprofessional it is to have favorites, Elsie contemplates the hurt the young woman feels. In the next flash, in her mind's eye, she sees Mr. Green's face, smiling and sinister. In that moment, wiping a hot tear from her eye, she knows what she'd do if she were Anna's mother. She'd visit a bit of Highlands vengeance on the man who'd hurt Anna and destroyed their idyllic little life downstairs. But she won't. Because she isn't Anna's mother and they live in a day and age of modern justice, of laws, and courts.

So silence and restraint bind her up in chains. Anna has sworn her to silence and even if she wanted, she cannot tell a soul, cannot whisper the slightest word to the only one to whom she can usually unburden herself. If only she could seek the solace he would so willingly give.

All she can do is cherish those in her charge, above stairs and below.

She knows the light will return. Because darkness doesn't last forever.

* * *

A/N: We often don't explore the fact that Elsie might possibly have a bit of a side that wanted retribution for what happened to Anna. It would, I suppose, seem as if this would go against Elsie being the moral compass of downstairs. But clearly she thought Mr. Green should have been punished and if Bates had killed him, then Bates was only acting in his wife's defense, a sentiment she clearly understood. So, I don't think that this flies in the face of Elsie as the moral compass of downstairs at all. Elsie had an inherent sense of justice and was fiercely protective of those she "valued" (loved) hence, the boot room scene. Elsie is a complex character and one I hope to never tire of exploring.


	2. White

**White**

* * *

 _Then_

The first time she saw a platinum white flash break the sky, she was all of three years old, held in her father's arms, as they stood at the kitchen window watching a thunderstorm coil and roar outside. The noise of the deep, rolling thunder and the pelting rain as it crashed fast and hard against the house had awakened them all – father, expectant mother, and child. Elsie's father explained that Mother Nature had a way of righting the balance of things, of making wrong right, and of making old new again. She was too young to understand it all, to understand that the rain turned dry ground fertile and brown leaves green. All Elsie Hughes knew was that the razor-sharp, crack of electricity splitting the Argyll sky that night was exhilarating.

 _Now_

Charles has done well today and despite her best efforts to remain circumspect, a pleased smile hasn't left her lips all afternoon. He hasn't seemed to mind that she finds the need to touch him - the taking of his hand or her fingertips skimming along his elbow - even if they are in what seems like the view of the entire village.

Truth be told she was sick with worry when Charles was forced into retirement. What becomes of a captain with no ship to pilot? But now here he is, her husband, drafted into service of another variety, a member of the Downton Village Council, and she couldn't be prouder.

His first council meeting has gone well; Charles was well-informed and his opinion listened to and appreciated. Though not one for the intricacies of village politics, Lady Mary seems particularly proud; she's practically beaming.

With the agenda deftly completed, the meeting is adjourned, and it's time to walk home to the cottage. They'll need to be quick about it. "There's a storm coming," she tells him. "There's not a dark cloud in sight," he scoffs.

He's closed the front door behind them, turned the bolt in the lock, slipped off his coat, and hung it on the hook beside the door. Before Charles fully realizes it, his wife has one hand on his shoulder and is reaching up to kiss him. Her lips brush the tender flesh of his temple near the corner of his eye, then drift to a spot on his cheekbone, before resting softly on the corner of his mouth. She pauses a moment as she savors the contented sigh that she's elicited from him. Then, she kisses him slowly and reverently. Elsie isn't to be rushed. Not today.

Later, his head rests on her belly and her fingers thread through the silver filaments of his hair. His fingers flutter at her hip, but it's from contentment and nothing more. Suddenly, a bright white flash pulsates off the bedroom's dark walls only soon followed by the sound of a thudding rain. "How'd you know?" he asks looking up.

As her gentle fingers stroke his face, soft eyes and a gentle smile are all she gives in answer. The white flashes of lightening outside their window reminds her of an lesson learned long ago. Eventually, everything is set to rights. Everything is as it was meant to be.


	3. Orange

Chapter Three: Orange

1928

When he finds her, she's sitting on the bench in the back garden, her fingers absentmindedly fidgeting against the hem of her coat sleeve, her eyes locked on the horizon, a gorgeous ginger sunset, an autumn portrait of persimmons, pumpkins, and burnt oranges streaked like candy floss across a clear blue sky. The sun's just beginning her descent and her rays shimmer through the branches of the oak tree at the far corner of the yard.

"Come inside, Elsie. I've started a fire and I'll draw the bath. You can take as long as you like." He's trying very hard to make things better, but she's not removed her piercing gaze from the blazing sunset; her eyes are misted over and her jaw is hard set.

After a moment, he relents. He knows there's not much he can do to change her mind once she's set on something, so he sits down beside her. For the longest time they simply sit together in silence, until he feels the slightest nudge against his thigh. He looks down to find her outstretched hand, fingers curled upward, awaiting his acceptance.

"I thought I'd walk up to the house with you tomorrow," he begins as quietly as his big voice can. "Though Lady Grantham made a point that you not come until after three at the earliest and only then if you're up to it to discuss a few things." He feels her tense, her fingertips pressing into the flesh and bone of his hand. "Elsie, " he replies firmly, "You've had a shock …"

"I'm fine." The protest defiant, her tone brooks no argument. She's betrayed when a tear spills over her lashes and slips down her cheek; she swipes at it furiously angered that she has so little control over her emotions.

"There's no shame in admitting that you need some time to yourself," he assures her. He's looking at her now and her eyes drop to their joined hands and then rise to meet his.

"I still can't believe she's gone." The vision of the cook, sat slumped in her chair, open cookery book on the little kitchen desk in front of her flashes in her mind's eye and the tears begin to fall in earnest. Her husband presses a handkerchief into her free hand.

He'll never tell her, but the fragility in her voice and the sorrow etched on her features is disconcerting; she's always been the strong one, the resolute one. The one who keeps everyone else, including him, steady.

"I'll miss her too," Charles admits, tears filling his eyes. "We three were a good team for a long time time weren't we?" At this admission she nods, squeezes his hand in affection and affirmation.

She leans her head against his shoulder and together they watch the sun set. When the flaming disc slips beneath the horizon and the coolness of night with its blues and cool whites descend upon the earth they bring a cold chill. The symbolism isn't lost on either of them. Downton'll not be the same without the warmth of her ginger-haired cook.

* * *

A/N: Author's Note is almost as long as the Drabble …

My grandfather died very suddenly the week before Christmas years ago looking over his cookbooks planning Christmas lunch for the family. We were all quite shocked, but he didn't suffer and went to his heavenly reward doing something he enjoyed so I couldn't be too sad for a long time. He was thinking of doing something for all of us. I was remembering him when I thought of this. Also, I think that Elsie is more buttoned-up with the expression of her feelings than Charles. I know that's not often how she's thought of or even portrayed in fan fiction, but on watching the series (and I have watched it a lot), Elsie really guards her emotions. A woman of her position had to. Charles meanwhile admits that he loves the family, Lady Mary, and Mrs. Hughes. He actually uses the word in reference to the last two and when he talks of Alice it is implied. Mrs. Hughes never talks of loving Joe Burns and in Series 6, Ep. 1 during "the talk" only admits to Mrs. P that Charles is a "dear, dear man" which is her code language for "I love him, Mrs Patmore." She does admit to us and him that she loves him using the word "love" in the final episode of the series. So, I think it right here that she'd be a little stiff upper lipped, until she couldn't be. I'm over 500 words, 520 to be exact, so that's certainly not enough to explore how either of the Carsons or the rest of those at the Abbey would feel at the sudden loss of Mrs. Patmore. I plan to explore that in a full length one-shot or couple of chapters later on. Think of this as a preview. Please let me know what you think if you are inclined.


	4. Green

Chapter Four

Green

Late August or Early September 1920

The Cricket Match

There's nothing quite like the spicey and pungent aroma of freshly mowed grass, its scent filling the air with memories of summers past and the hopes of summers future. The feel of its slender blades bending beneath the weight of one's steps then springing back true reminds him of the ebb and flow of life - how we bend, but never break. A lovely late summer's day has Charles Carson's face lighting up with boyish enthusiasm and a reserved grin pulling at his lips, as he taps his cricket bat against the edge of his shoe. The house team is in good shape thanks to the batting skill of Thomas Barrow and for the moment it seems that all is right with the world. Making his way to the pitch, Charles turns, and casts an inquiring eye across the green to the refreshments tent. He isn't sure what draws his attention away from the task at hand, except that most of the other men have someone, a wife or a sweetheart, cheering them on and he wonders if anyone, if _she_ , is interested in his turn at play.

His eyes sparkle when he sees her; when she inclines her head just so in that special way she has, and when she draws her lip between her teeth, and looks at him the way she's looking at him now, he feels like a young man being sized up by an interested young lass. Though she's a few words for Mrs. Patmore, her attentions are set on him, her eyes narrowed in concentration, her gaze cast fully on him. Suddenly, he feels a not unpleasant tingling as the tips of his ears redden and soon his cheeks flush with warmth. For a moment he wonders if he's had too much sun, yet it isn't long before he realizes that the heat rising in his flesh has less to do with the sun's kiss and more to do with a stirring of strong emotion for the woman to whom his life and, dare he admit it, his heart are inexplicably tethered.

Tucking his bat against his side, he strides to the worn greenery of the pitch with vigour. He knows she's watching and with everything in him, he feels the need to make her proud, to be the one for whom she cheers.

A/N: A nod back to a scene from canon and not the chapter I wanted, but "Blue" is refusing to cooperate. If you are inclined, I'd love a wee review.


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